


It's a dangerous business, going out your door

by TheBrideOfTheWind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Murphy is a Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrideOfTheWind/pseuds/TheBrideOfTheWind
Summary: No, it's not that he doesn't like “Lord of the Rings”. But he's gruesomely sleep-deprived from staying up all night to study for his exams, while still trying to hammer enough information into his dying brain. The latter becoming harder and harder as his new neighbour not only seems to be incredibly clumsy but also dangerously obsessed with the series, having watched the Extended versions of all three films every day, for three days in a row now.Or Bellamy's new neighbour annoys him by watching “Lord of the Rings” all the time, and not everything is as it seems.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/John Murphy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	It's a dangerous business, going out your door

**Author's Note:**

> Me only writing wholesome stories? More likely than you think. This has been in my drafts for a while now, and it's finally time to publish it. The idea is from a prompt I once read.
> 
> The title is – how else could it be – from “Lord of the Rings” by J. R. R. Tolkien.

It’s not that Bellamy doesn't like “Lord of the Rings” or Tolkien per se. On the contrary, he would even call himself a fan, since he has not only seen all the films plus “The Hobbit” and all its sequels but also has read all the books including “The Silmarillion” more than once. One could even say that over the years, he has acquired a pretty decent knowledge of Tolkien’s whole universe.

No, it's not that he doesn't like “Lord of the Rings”. But he's gruesomely sleep-deprived from staying up all night to study for his exams, while still trying to hammer enough information into his dying brain. The latter becoming harder and harder as his new neighbour not only seems to be incredibly clumsy but also dangerously obsessed with the series, having watched the Extended versions of all three films every day, for three days in a row now. 

The walls of the house are paper-thin, and whenever it seems like none of the films are on the TV, the epic soundtrack is humming through said walls, completely and utterly blowing even the attempt at studying out of the water.

Bellamy isn't sure if the next time Gandalf thunders “YOU SHALL NOT PASS” or Gollum creepily whispers “My precioussss”, he will be able to hold himself back from ramming through the door and asking the guy how precious his own life is to him.

It’s getting utterly quiet for a moment, and Bellamy lets out a deep sigh of content before Galadriel’s voice pierces the silence as if she's standing right next to him: “The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it—”

“For the love of God, have mercy!” 

He stamps out of his flat, barefoot and still in his chequered pyjama pants, almost slamming the door behind him before he remembers to get the keys in the last second and saving himself from having to listen to “The Fellowship of the Ring” for the fourth time. 

In the hallway, the sound is as overwhelming as inside if not louder. There's a line that can be crossed, and this is it, enough is enough. 

When he presses his index finger on the doorbell with a hardly decipherable _J. Murphy_ scribbled on it for a little too long and a little too firm, he wonders how he will react to finally meeting his secret nemesis, this Tolkien demon, and also how he will keep cool enough to prevent himself from incessantly yelling into his face the moment he opens the door.

His feet tap on the floor as he waits, and he realises all at once how cold and draughty it is in the hallway, as he curses his impulsiveness and his inability to let things go. 

There's some rumbling inside, then it becomes silent, the door tears open, and a young man appears, blinking at him sheepishly.

“Oi,” he says, and that's all.

And Bellamy just stares. Unexpectedly, he’s neither the awaited hobbit, elf or dwarf. His eyes are too blue and too far apart, the black pair of horn-rimmed glasses sitting on his prominent nose only emphasising the effect. His skin looks as pale as a human being can look without having to fear to get staked on sight. He’s slender but almost as tall as him, which isn't very tall but not too short either. Too tall to be a hobbit or a dwarf at least, and his feet covered by black Batman socks don’t look big or hairy enough as far as he can tell without being creepy. There’s a black beanie on his head, strands of brunette hair peeking out from underneath. He resists the urge to check if his ears are pointy. 

As Bellamy continues to stare, the man's lips curl into a confused smile.

“Aren't you freezing?” he asks, pointing at his naked feet. As he moves out of the door frame, Bellamy is able to spot the corpus delicti behind him, a freakishly large plasma TV and a Dolby surround system, Gandalf on his way through the Shire flickering on the screen.

“Your TV,” Bellamy manages to finally bring out, the man’s thick eyebrows knitting together pensively.

“My TV?” He asks, looking more confused than ever.

“It’s loud. Very loud. Unbearably loud.”

J. Murphy's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, his blue eyes widening as a surprised “oh” leaves his mouth.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m really sorry. It’s just— I’ve to write this paper about Tolkien’s universe, and you know, “Lord of the Rings” is a must-have...It’s due tomorrow, so this should be over soon.”

He squints at him, half-begging, half-sure of victory, and Bellamy closes his eyes and sighs before he ultimately gives in. 

“Okay. But no more “Lord of the Rings” or “The Hobbit” or any other Tolkien related film or soundtrack or whatever after tomorrow?”

J. Murphy nods eagerly. “Pinky-promise. No more Tolkien after tomorrow.”

“At least for the next week,” he adds under his breath.

“Hey, I heard that, J. Murphy.”

“Just Murphy.”

“I’m Bellamy,” Bellamy says before he waves at Murphy who’s still standing in the hallway looking at him.

He casts one last look back as he enters his own flat, but he's already gone, and maybe it's for the better, because who would like to catch the annoying new neighbour in the act of creeping after them when they just met? Nobody, that's who. And the sting of disappointment he’s feeling must be related to something entirely different for sure.

*******

The next day passes by without any disturbances, and he gets a ton of things done, including completing the essay he was supposed to write. 

The next evening, however, he can’t believe his own ears.

He stamps out of his flat, barefoot and still in his chequered pyjama pants, slamming the door behind him— and it shuts with a traitorous click, his keys still safely stored on the cupboard inside.

“Fuck,” he cries out as he kicks the door, his big toe crashing against the hard wood with a cracking sound, and for a second he’s afraid it’s broken, and yeah, it definitely feels like it is broken.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, placing his toe down cautiously and putting only a little weight on it. It still hurts like hell, and he bites down another whimper as the door to his neighbour’s flat flies open, and a disoriented-looking Murphy peeks his head out. 

“What's all this noise?” he asks, and Bellamy has to bite down a sarcastic remark because apparently, this guy, in fact, doesn't have a single clue _how_ loud he is.

Murphy’s face changes from shock to utter pity as he takes in his desolate state, his toe more and more resembling a squished tomato.

“Ohhh, that's bad,” he mutters, pointing at his destroyed toe. “That’s really bad.”

Bellamy can't help but notice that for someone who has a habit of casually torturing their neighbours with fantasy films, he looks quite concerned. Maybe there is some shred of humanity in him left after all.

“Locked me out. Then kicked the door. Didn't help much other than breaking my toe.”

“That's not broken,” Murphy replies. “Looks too straight to be broken.” 

If only every part of him was that straight, Bellamy sighs internally, catching himself studying Murphy's backside a little too intently as he bends down to take a closer look at his toe.

“You know what you're doing?” He scoffs when Murphy twists and turns it carefully, and a quiet wince of pain leaves his mouth.

Murphy glances at him before he carries on with his examination. 

“How come you seem to know so much about that stuff,” Bellamy asks, eyeing Murphy expertly handling his foot with growing suspicion.

“It’s because I'm— it's because I watch a lot of medical TV shows...“Grey's Anatomy”, “Emergency Room”, “Dr House”, you know, that kind of stuff.”

Bellamy isn't entirely satisfied by this answer and the nervous twitching of his mouth or the fact that he hasn’t been able to look at him while explaining himself, but he decides to let it go for the moment.

“Good news, by the way,” Murphy cheers after placing Bellamy’s foot back on the floor gently. “It doesn't look like it's broken. Bad news, you're still locked out. But the good news is, you can come with me. I’m in the middle of watching “The Empire strikes back”.

As if anyone inside the building didn't notice.

“The TV,” Bellamy scowls, and Murphy gives him a bright smile.

“You said no Tolkien. Pinky-promise, remember?”

“I meant — no — TV!” Bellamy gurgles with short breath, feeling ready to strangle the guy despite his bright eyes, soft hands, and open concern for his well-being.

Murphy’s face falls, a look of utter shock appearing on it. “No TV?” He croaks. “You mean absolutely no TV?”

“No TV!” He shouts again, and Murphy now looks like he’s on the verge of crying. “I mean, just tone it down a little, okay? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“You’re still locked out, though,” Murphy remarks, quite rightly, and looks at him expectantly. “And my offer still stands. Or you could stay outside here the whole night.”

“Could you lend me your phone for a second so that I can call my sister to get me her spare key?”

Murphy hands him his phone without a word, mouthing “the second is over” while Bellamy punches in Octavia’s number. It must be his lucky day because she picks up promptly. It wouldn’t be the first time she forgot her phone somewhere or didn’t hear it.

“She'll be here in about half an hour or so.”

“Aaand?”

“Fine,” Bellamy caves in after another couple of minutes of scowling, catching a look of triumph on his face as he follows Murphy into his flat.

The flat looks exactly how he imagined it. In the centre thrones the giant TV, a small couch table with a bowl of deliciously smelling popcorn and a bottle of beer in front of it. The couch looks old and worn-out but also pretty comfortable. The walls are plastered with various film posters and a few personal photos, and everywhere lie piles of books and papers. 

“Uni stuff,” Murphy shrugs, picking up an armful of papers and books from the couch and dumping it on a nearby shelf, then ushers him over to the sofa which is indeed very comfortable. “Make yourself at home. Beer? Popcorn?”

He nods for the beer and denies the bowl of popcorn Murphy nudges towards him because good smell or not, this stuff was only invented to get stuck in people's teeth. Murphy disappears in what must be the kitchen, and he uses the moment to take a closer look at the next book in his vicinity. It's an anatomy book. The second one he takes is a neurology book. The third one about psychiatry. The fourth one about the history of nursing. 

And suddenly it all makes sense. The irregular schedule. All the times Murphy slept in late. The medical knowledge.

“This little fucker,” Bellamy cusses, right as Murphy returns with a bottle of beer and a bowl of chips.

“So, film, hm?” Bellamy asks, as Murphy plops down next to him, holding up the anatomy book innocently.

Murphy, shovelling popcorn into his mouth, at least has the decency to blush slightly. “We do watch films sometimes...”

“Is that so?”

Murphy looks guilty enough to make up for what he did. “I used to watch the “Lord of the Rings” films with my friends. I watch them when I feel lonely and it reminds me of them.”

“And “Star Wars” as well?”

“Of course,” Murphy says, but once again he can't look at him and doesn't sound as convincing as he did before.

“You are a liar and a fraud.”

“I gave you shelter and saved you from a gruesome death caused by hypothermia. Also, it's not entirely untrue. I was feeling lonely and was hoping my neighbour next door would come over again—“

“YOU,” Bellamy cries out and shoves the next best cushion into Murphy’s beaming face. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I'm shy,” Murphy mumbles from behind the pillow. Bellamy removes it then, less because he has mercy and more because he wants to see his face.

“ _You_ are shy?”

“Just because you let yourself be fooled by my cool exterior, doesn’t mean I'm not.”

“Cool exterior?” Bellamy teases, and then it's Murphy’s turn to shove a pillow into his face.

The film is forgotten, and the cushion shoving turns into a full-blown pillow fight with none of the opponents holding back.

It comes to an end when they tumble off the couch, collide with the table and almost knock over the popcorn bowl, a few pieces of popcorn falling on them in the process and Bellamy falling on top of Murphy. Or it doesn’t really end, because each of them is so flustered by their sudden proximity, that they just gape at each other for a minute.

“Umm,” they both stammer at the same time, hurrying to get up, which only leads them to find themselves nose to nose again, just vertically this time.

“You’re heavier than you look,” Murphy says, breath fanning over Bellamy’s cheeks.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Bellamy responds. “Yet still honourless,” he adds, catching Murphy’s hand mid-air on its way to poke him into his ribs.

“I don’t hear you complaining, though,” Murphy states, as he reaches to brush a piece of popcorn out of Bellamy’s hair, then stills as their eyes lock—

The urgent shrill of the doorbell interrupts whatever moment they have, and Bellamy rushes to the door mumbling “must be my sister” as he passes a very red-faced Murphy.

It is, in fact, Octavia who raises an eyebrow at his own equally flushed face, but seems to bite down any further comment, though he's convinced she will get at him later.

“Thanks for the...umm...beer and for taking me in, man,” he calls back at a conspicuously quiet Murphy and follows O to his own flat.

“So that’s the guy with the Tolkien kink, right?” Octavia asks once they are in the safety of his flat.

“Apparently, it's not just Tolkien but also “Star Wars”.”

“A man according to your taste then.”

“A man who I almost strangled a few minutes earlier.”

“It didn’t exactly look like strangling to me,” Octavia says with the biggest grin, and he blushes once again, “but never mind, I'm heading out and I’m going to leave you alone, fantasising about your neighbour you'd like to strangle or whatever.”

“Thanks for helping me out, O. I'll try to remember to take the key with me next time.”

“So there will be a next time?” She teases him, and he groans. “Night, big brother. And do nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s the worst advice you could give me.”

“Good. It's time you loosen up a little bit. There's more to life than just studying.”

“Right, right, thanks again,” with that he ushers her out of the door, glad to be finally alone.

When he returns from brushing his teeth, his cell phone is blinking with a new message. He opens it, awaiting a confirmation from Octavia that she arrived at home safely, but it's an unknown number instead.

_hey, its me, murphy. your nice neighbour next door, remember me? you might wonder how i got your number, your sister was so kind to slip a piece of paper with it under my door like in some period drama (pride and prejudice is great by the way) and i thought i would be more than obliged to prove my nobleness and the presence of honour by writing you_

_i also wanted to ask you if you'd like to come over within the next few days to finish what we started_

_i mean the film obviously ;)_

_or do i?_

**Ha, so much about you being shy. I might consider your offer, earnestly. Although you would have to at least take me to dinner first.**

_that shouldn’t be a problem. but im a poor student, maybe i could make some pasta for you instead? im free on Saturday :)_

**I can’t help but be a little bit wary of your cooking skills, Saturday sounds great, though. Goodnight then.**

_night. turning down the volume a notch..._

Bellamy shakes his head and puts his cell phone away with a smile, and not even the soft droning of the TV next door can rob him of his precious sleep this time.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? Thanks for reading!


End file.
